


Predisposition

by ratherbefree



Category: Community (TV), Sleeping With Other People (2015)
Genre: F/M, but others say winters??, i thought it was dalton????, man idk idk, sORRY idk lainey's surname
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-23
Updated: 2016-03-23
Packaged: 2018-05-28 15:39:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6334696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ratherbefree/pseuds/ratherbefree
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A conversation in a bar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Predisposition

**Author's Note:**

> Set pre-S1; Jeff's been disbarred, but pre-decision to go to Greendale. Lainey is presumably Alison Brie's age, so I placed her around mid-twenties in this fic?

Jeff Winger may be a sleazy, terrible, verging-on-alcoholic man, but drinking in a less-than-swanky bar at this time of night is an activity usually too low even for him. 

Most days, at least. 

However, today is not most days, and after having been made to sign away his dignity earlier in the evening, all he really wants to do at the moment is fill the void previously occupied by his own self-respect with scotch or vodka or shots or alcohol; anything to numb his thoughts and perhaps make him forget the entire past week. 

The possibility of meeting a girl isn’t even something he really considered, up until now. At this time of night - morning, rather - the only women he’d be likely to meet are unhinged recent divorcees, prostitutes, or experimental college girls. 

All of whom are very dangerous. 

Needless to say, it’s something of a shock when he finally allows himself to lock eyes with the brunette across the bar. 

She’s dressed - well, strangely appropriately. Sleek silver top that swishes when she makes even the slightest of movements, coupled with a much tighter black miniskirt that shows off her legs in a very flattering way. Add to that her perfectly dark hair, twisted around over one shoulder, and the glass of deep red wine in her hands, and it’s really hardly a surprise that he makes his way nearer, holding his scotch in one hand and guiding himself through the small crowd of frat boys with the other. 

The woman looks up as he reaches her, a falsely inquisitive look in her eyes, like she’s pretending to be surprised to see him when really, she planned this all herself. 

“I hate drinking alone.” She sighs, in lieu of a greeting. 

“Can’t blame you. I’m not partial to it myself.” 

“I can tell.” She nods towards his already half-empty glass of… Whatever-it-is. He doesn’t care to remember. Her coy little smirk is all the invitation he needs to take the seat next to her.

“So, what brings someone like you to a dump like this on a Tuesday night?” 

“Shouldn’t you at least ask my name before you drop shitty lines on me?” Her words catch him off guard, but the challenging quirk of her eyebrows spurs him on.

“My mistake.” He says, drily. Composes himself for a minute, tests the words in his head - will his name still sound the same after everything that’s happened, after all he’s been forced to sign away? “I’m Jeff. Winger. And you are?” 

“Ha.” He didn’t even make a joke - she seems to just be sarcastically laughing at his whole demeanour, personality. “Lainey Dalton.” 

“Lainey.” He shifts in his seat, sips his scotch. It gives him a second to think, wonder if this girl - woman, whatever - is really worth all the effort he’s putting in so far. “Pleasure.” 

“Likewise.” 

“So, _Lainey,_ what brings someone like you to a dump like this on a Tuesday night?” 

She twists her mouth to hide her smirk. “Just dropping through. Looking at college courses, actually.” 

College? She doesn’t look old enough to be fresh out of high school. God, what if she’s only 19? That’d for sure be the perfect terrible ending to a terrible day. 

His confusion must show on his face, because she shakes her head. “It’s not what you think - I’m going _back_ to college. Dropped out of med undergrad when I was younger, but now I’m thinking of going back to it.” 

Jeff tilts his glass in her direction and raises his eyebrows in what he hopes conveys respect. 

There’s a silence for a minute. The women - Lacey, Lainey, something like that, right? - has a fixed sort of stare. Simultaneously like she’s sizing him up, and like she knows something he doesn’t. It’s unnerving and, if he’s being totally honest, kind of hot. Instead of moving away, making an excuse, finding any reason possible to get out of this situation (because she can read him _too_ well, because she’s dressed a little too nicely for a place like this, because he knows he’s gonna do something stupid tonight and doesn’t particularly want another person wrapped up in it) he sits, sips his scotch, and waits. 

“What’s your deal?” 

“My _deal?”_

“I told you about me. Now it’s your turn.” She sips, almost daintily, from the wine, and he can’t help but watch the slight movement of her throat as she swallows. 

“Where to begin?” It’s partly a joke, and partly just a way to give him some time to evade. He’s so used to answering questions like these that the old response lies just on the tip of his tongue - defence layer, Hamish, Hamish & Hamlin, attorney at law, etc. 

But now that none of that is true anymore, where does it leave him? 

“I was a…” Now, this could go one of two ways. “A lawyer, until recently.” 

“Interesting.” She nods and stares straight into his eyes over the rim of her glass, poised at her mouth. 

“It was.” 

“And then you were disbarred, and now you’re here, alone… Right?” The look from before is back. She knows things. She’s already a step ahead and is just waiting for him to catch up. 

Is there any point in denying the truth? “Right.” 

Her eyes are downcast for a moment, like she’s thinking - and he can practically see the wheels turning in her head. 

Perhaps he’s blown it, or perhaps he had no chance from the very beginning. Whatever. Maybe it’s for the best he doesn’t sleep with anyone tonight - God only knows what he’ll feel like in the morning. 

Absolute shit, probably.

She turns back, and there’s a furrow in her brow. “Do you want to get out of here?” 

“I…” Screw the morning. What’s done is done. He might as well have one last hoorah. “Yes.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Not sure how happy I am with this, but I've already written 2 other botched versions of this fic. I guess it'd make more sense with smut in it but I'm just not great at writing it, y'know?


End file.
